


Mercy and Mayflies

by Happenstance_and_Balderdash



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Nightmares, The witch's familiar, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5044600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happenstance_and_Balderdash/pseuds/Happenstance_and_Balderdash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the missing scene between Clara's reveal and their escape during The Witch's Familiar, and then what happens after.  A journey of discovering how they really feel about each other and learning to admit it.  The rating will definitely go up as the story goes on.  I plan to take this all the way up until just before The Zygon Invasion.</p><p>"She was there, barely two steps away. Beyond what he had dared to let himself hope.  Beyond reason.  Impossible, but real."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mercy

The Dalek's casing split open and the Doctor's hearts both flew and stopped simultaneously. This was so far beyond wrong. There were not enough levels to explain just how wrong this was...but it was Clara and she was alive, and at least mostly free of obvious physical harm. She was there, barely two steps away. Beyond what he had dared to let himself hope. Beyond reason. Impossible, but real. Warring with his immense relief, preventing him from going to her that instant, was an unspeakable anger. It rose like bile from the pit of his stomach and his vision went red around the edges. All he could see was Clara. 

"Missy, run." He warned darkly.

Clara stared up at him, relief clear in her watery eyes. The kind of exhausted relief that follows prolonged fear. "Oh, Doctor..." she breathed, simply watching him.

It was her voice which finally spurred him into action. Focusing on Clara, he heard Missy continue to speak near him, something about friends and enemies, but it was little more than an irritating buzz. He crouched over in front of the Dalek casing, reaching out and moving a few wires and bits of metal until he framed Clara’s face in his hands. They shook slightly and he didn’t know whether from relief or rage. Perhaps both. Clara lowered her eyes even as he tried to search them. "I'm sorry Clara, I'm so sorry." He said softly. She looked so lost in that moment. Sad. Still afraid? Missy continued her pointless babbling and he managed to get out a stronger, "I said, run!" even as he kept his eyes fixed on Clara.

Missy finally walked slowly away, and with her left some of his seething rage. For what seemed like an eternity, all he could do was stare. How did one get a Human out of a Dalek without damaging them? Without killing them? Would the nanotech remaining in the shell repair the damage on the way out? What damage was there already? Would it cause even more to be removed like this? Did he really have a choice? He knew what was coming, and they didn't have much time. He set a steadying hand on Clara's shoulder while the other lightly touched the wire at her temple. She flinched.

"Clara, we need to get you out of there. This place is going to crumble and I don't know how long we have." She sniffed and nodded, meeting his eyes again at last. "It may hurt. I don't know if it will damage you or if it will repair on its way out." He spoke quickly, putting a note of question in his voice. Asking her consent for him to try before acting. 

"Ok" she answered shakily and bit her lower lip as she shut her eyes, preparing herself for whatever was coming.

He squeezed her shoulder encouragingly before moving both hands to the wire at her right temple. Experimentally, he slid a short fingernail between the edge of the connecting piece and her skin. She frowned, but didn't react otherwise. Barely daring to breathe, he peeled the connective flaps away from her skin, holding the main part in place. His hands shook as he hesitated. "Ok, Clara, I'm going to remove this one." She made a noise like a whimper, but he understood that she was ready. Setting his teeth, he took a firm grip between his fingers. After a silent count, he pulled firmly and steadily on the wire, straight out away from her head.

"Ah!" she exclaimed as it came free, sparking a little and leaving a thin rivulet of blood to trickle down her face. He stared, horrified, thinking he had caused irreparable damage. However, even as the blood crept down her skin, the small hole in her temple began to shrink and then close until it looked like nothing had ever been there. Clara let out the breath she had apparently been holding and slowly opened her eyes. "You were right" she said at last. "That hurts."

The Doctor grimaced "Sorry" and wiped the still-wet blood away with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Are you ready for the other side?" He hated hurting her, but it had to be done. At her nod, he gave her the same warning and pulled the second wire out. Much the same thing happened, except that she had clenched her teeth to avoid crying out a second time. When he had wiped the blood away again, she slowly tilted her head from side to side. "Are you ok?" he asked, more than a little anxious, still crouching in front of her. He had expected her to do something. Spring from the machine, slump forward, anything. She hadn't moved.

"I think so,” She said, obviously ticking things off of a mental list. “It stings, but I think I'm ok". She lifted her hands onto her lap slowly as if they were weighted, and shifted a foot slightly. When she looked up at the Doctor, her brows were drawn together in frustration. "I can't move. Not easily.” She said it calmly, but he heard the unease in her voice.

"Side effect" he answered quickly, though he was of course, far from sure of that. It made sense, though. With no real use for a physical body inside of the shell, perhaps it was designed to immobilize. He supposed that would explain why the Daleks were so...gelatinous. "Let's get you out of there." He didn’t wait for a response this time. She was disconnected, and he didn’t want her inside of that thing for a moment longer. He reached in, wrapping an arm behind and around her waist, and held one of her hands over his shoulder. She wasn't heavy. Even without her help, he was able to easily support her until they reached the wall a few steps away. Unable to stand on her own, The Doctor slid to the floor with her instead.

"Thank you," she said quietly, letting her head fall to the side, onto his shoulder "for getting me out of there."

The Doctor went very still as she let her head rest against him. He understood she was exhausted and likely had little conscious choice in the matter, but he certainly didn't mind. Indeed, in that moment he hardly cared if he met his end right there, except that he wouldn't let that happen to Clara. "Of course" he replied instead, laying a hand lightly over one of hers. 

He felt her smile slightly against his shoulder, but when she spoke, she asked "How long will this last? How long do we have?"

He wanted more than anything to say _'forever'_ to both questions, but he knew that wasn't what she meant. "Not long, I hope. Keep trying to move your arms and legs. You’ve already regained some control. That’s a good sign. When you think you can, try to stand up. I’ll help you. We don't have much time." He rattled it off quickly, covering for his unspoken thought and attempting to sound nothing but clinical in his response.

Clara nodded, and lifted her hands. He let his own fall away. It took a long few minutes before she could easily move her arms and really get her feet to do what she wanted. It was several minutes more before she was able to stand, and even then she was unsteady, so he stood directly in front of her, arms slightly outstretched to catch her if she fell. "At least I'm on my feet" she said with a shaky smile. 

It seemed the longer she was out of the Dalek casing, the more of her energy she got back. He wondered how much of its power was taken directly from an actual physical body. He hadn't considered that the body of a Dalek might be some source of the power for the shell. But that was something to ponder later. "At least there's that", he agreed with a nod. 

Clara shook her arms a little, like she was trying to get feeling back into them. She looked down at her feet and shook them as well, first standing on one leg and then the other. When she looked back up at him, her expression was serious, but anxious. "Doctor, what happened in there? What did you do, exactly?" She reached up and brushed her hair out of her eyes, searching his. "Missy seemed genuinely worried. It looked...it looked like regeneration energy coming off the Daleks." She ended it on a questioning tone but didn’t go on.

He sighed and stood up properly. She didn’t seem likely to fall anymore. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists. He could still feel the burn of it. The simultaneous feelings of being scalded, flayed and used as an electrical conduit and the way his muscles had seized up under the strain. "It was that." He confirmed. "Davros...I was going to help him, but..." he trailed off and Clara took his hand gently in her own, reassuring. He looked down at her hand in his and squeezed it. "Well, he had other plans, let's say. He got greedy." He opened his mouth to say more, but couldn't bring himself to. When he looked at Clara properly again, she seemed much steadier on her feet. Pushing the recent memory to the back of his mind, he switched focus back to the more immediate problem and pulled her forward experimentally by the hand.

Clara, caught by surprise, nearly missed moving her feet, but she stumbled forward and eventually got her balance. "Finally!" she said happily. He could see curiosity and worry in her eyes still, not satisfied by his explanation, but she left it where he had, and he was grateful for that. "What about Missy then?" she asked. The question sounded forced. Like she was asking something she didn’t really want to ask.

"What about her?" his tone was stony as he bit the words out.

"She’s not with us. Will she…will she die here?” she avoided his eyes as she asked it.

Something deep in him twisted with a dull pain, but he ignored it. He was far too angry with Missy to care much one way or the other. "Doubtful,” he answered at last. “She'll find a way out. Always does." Clara didn't press the issue. “Come on. We need to get moving.”

He picked the Dalek gun up off the floor and they began walking slowly down a long corridor, hand in hand, Clara's steps getting more sure all the time. As he pulled her down another, they picked up their pace. "Where are we going?" she asked, stumbling slightly behind him but regaining her footing quickly.

"Back to the TARDIS" he responded matter-of-factly. A tug on his hand stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Clara, who was looking at him wide-eyed and alarmed.

"Doctor, it was gone. I think they destroyed it!"

He grinned at her. "Did they, then?" and lead her on again. By the time they came to the right place, she was fully under her own power and he pulled ahead of her, entering the room at a run. It was time to get out of here.


	2. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Doctor and Clara finally escape from Skaro, Clara finds herself dealing with the aftermath of the experience on her own while the Doctor avoids the situation.

The Doctor had made a good show of being upbeat and entirely too energetic once they were safely back in the TARDIS.  He had run his mouth nonstop, avoiding anything more than casual conversation no matter how Clara tried to bring up what had happened.  It was an effective, if vexing, defense mechanism.  One with which she was very much familiar.  He dashed about the console room, flicking switches, turning knobs and making inane remarks about past and future civilizations until she had tired of it all and given up.

“Fine,” she said at last, holding her hands up in defeat. “I know a lost cause when I see one. Goodnight, Doctor!”

As she turned on her heel, he called over, “It isn’t night, Clara.”

“I don’t care, Doctor.”  She didn’t turn around as she said it, but rolled her eyes as she heard him flip more switches.  She doubted many of them even did anything.  The sound of her footsteps echoed softly as she walked toward her room.  _Her room_.  It felt odd to call it hers.  She tried to correct herself when she thought of it as such, but for all intents and purposes, it was.  While it generally took a short hike to get there, she pulled up short only a minute later.  Her door had moved much closer than usual.  Clearly, the TARDIS was more perceptive than the Doctor on this occasion.  She pressed a hand to the corridor wall and mentally thanked her.  Clara was never quite sure of how all of that worked, but she did her best, and at the moment, she was exceedingly grateful for the kindness.

Clara paced around the small room for a while, mentally replaying what had happened on an endless loop.  She had far too many questions and very few answers.  The Doctor had thought he was going to die and had sent the equivalent of a will to Missy.  _Missy_ of all people.  She didn’t pretend to understand.  She knew they had history.  Longer than she could really fathom.  But she couldn’t reconcile that with what she had seen herself.  The Doctor had been absolutely certain he would die.  If not for Missy, Clara actually _would_ have died.  She had been stuffed into a Dalek, and then the Doctor himself had nearly blasted her into oblivion. 

It was with great effort that she stopped herself pacing.  She could wait.  If the Doctor wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened yet, she would wait for him.  He would come around eventually.  He almost always did.

It may not have been ‘night’ according to the TARDIS’ set cycle, but Clara was bone-tired, sore all over, and had a hell of a headache.  Sleeping sounded like the most wonderful thing in the universe next to getting out of her shoes, so she slowly went through the motions of getting ready for bed.  She didn’t bother to shower, just used a cloth to wipe away obvious dirt and grime.  Being properly clean could wait until she felt properly alive again.  She brushed her teeth and hair and rummaged through a small bag of clothing she hadn’t gotten to unpacking yet.  Pulling out a loose-fitting pair of PJ bottoms and a long-sleeved soft blue shirt, she undressed in front of the mirror.  Turning her head, she was glad to see that there didn’t seem to be any evidence of her connection to the Dalek shell, though her headache was evidence enough, and the skin where there had been contact still felt strangely numb.  She peeled off the layers of her outfit carefully, her left shoulder and right hip and leg protesting from when Missy had cut her down from the rocky outcropping and then pushed her down into the sewers.  It was only after the adrenaline had worn off that she had really noticed how much pain she was in.  Clara grimaced as she took in the sight.  Why did things always seem to become more painful once you could see them?  Purpling bruises blossomed widely in both areas in startling contrast to the rest of her skin.  The injury to her leg and hip was worse.  The bruises there were wider and clearly deeper, but there was no broken skin.  She was thankful she had happened to be wearing an outfit that covered everything.  It could have been worse.

 Once she was changed, having discovered nothing more concerning than the admittedly awful bruising, she grabbed a book from the random selection in the room without paying attention to what it was.  Anything to distract her was acceptable.  Piling up the many pillows she kept on the bed, she nestled into them until she was moderately comfortable.  Unfortunately, the book turned out to be about as interesting as watching grass grow. She only managed a few pages before her brain refused to process it and she found herself reading the same few sentences over and over again.  “Ugh,” she groaned, dropping the book to the side and gingerly rubbing at her temples, “waste of a tree”.

Clara sighed in defeat and decided it might be better to just give in to the exhaustion at last.  Perhaps she would wake up feeling less like a beaten rag doll and maybe the Doctor would be more open to discussing things.  It didn’t feel like they were headed anywhere at the moment.  There would be time.  She wiggled down a little further in her pillows and closed her eyes.  It took quite a lot of effort to clear her mind enough to relax, but eventually she managed it and drifted off to the familiar low hum of the TARDIS.

“Indulge yourself, go on.” Missy’s voice filtered fuzzily through her mind and in moments, her surroundings faded from a bustling London at night, to the claustrophobic prison of the Dalek shell and she couldn’t move.  “Kill the Dalek”.

Clara broke out in a full-body cold sweat as she realized what was happening.  What Missy was trying to do.  She recoiled, involuntarily making the machine back away as well.  “Don’t kill me!  Don’t kill me!” she shouted desperately.

The Doctor raised the Dalek weapon and pointed it directly at her.  Panic wound its way through her veins as she looked into his face through the lens of the eye-stalk.  There was danger there.  An unpredictable restless fury.  “Is Clara dead!?” he shouted at her.

“No!” she cried back, “Doctor, no! I’m not dead, I’m in here, can you hear me!?”  But the damned thing kept twisting her words and turning them backward on her.  She heard the mechanical voice grate out ‘I am your enemy’ and the Doctor took new aim at her, setting his feet solidly beneath him.  He was going to fire.  He was going to blast her to death right there without even knowing it was her.  Hopeless tears stung her eyes and her voice caught so that she could barely speak, “No, please no…”

“Clara?” she felt a jolt of pain through her shoulder and couldn’t repress a yelp.

“Please, no…” she begged hopelessly, tense, waiting for the flash of light that would be her end.

“Clara, wake up!”

Her eyes snapped open and she was momentarily blinded by the light of the room before she saw the Doctor.  With a gasp, she shrank back out of reach, wincing.  His hand fell from her shoulder but he kept it raised and outstretched toward her in a placating gesture.  “Doctor?” she asked, still shaking off the remnants of the vision. 

“Yes, Clara.  Only a dream.” He said, watching her closely.

“Nightmare.” She corrected, bringing a hand up and pushing her hair out of her face.  Now that she could see him without the shade of her fear, she saw that his eyes didn’t hold the terrible anger that had frightened her so much.  Instead, they looked worried.  Maybe even guilty.  And then she realized that she had recoiled from him and felt slightly foolish. “Sorry, I…” she pushed herself out of the pillows a bit, closer to where she had been laying, “I didn’t mean to do that.” She finished lamely and attempted an apologetic smile.

The Doctor seemed to relax a little and lowered his hand, but immediately stiffened again, eyes wide. “Clara!”

She jumped slightly, startled. “What?” His eyes had dropped to the area roughly around her collarbone, and she looked down to follow his gaze. “Oh.” she said, relieved.  The wide neck of her shirt had pulled over at some point and he was staring at the uneven edge of her bruise. There was no call for making her jump like that.  “It’s a bruise, Doctor. It happens.”

“Clara, why didn’t you tell me?” He reached out again, but she didn’t back away this time. 

“It’s just a bruise, it’ll…” but she trailed off as his fingers made contact.  They were cold and dry and, more than anything, gentle.  Her eyes snapped to his, which were following the progress of his fingers along the edge of the bruise.  Clara hardly dared to breathe, afraid any movement would scare him away.  He did sometimes remind her of some skittish sort of animal in this body, and the last thing she wanted to do just then was to stop him.  The circumstances could have been better of course, but how long had she dreamed of him doing just this? Not a hug fueled by deception, or relief or separation.  Not a touch by unavoidable necessity.  This…this was by choice, in the safety of the TARDIS.  She thought she could see something in his face shift.  The hard edges which were more a function of affectation than fact appeared to soften slightly.  His blue eyes seemed to unfocus as his long fingers slipped under the edge of the garment.  As he slid the fabric further to the side, something like half a sigh escaped her lips before she could think to stop it.

He snatched his hand back at once and cleared his throat. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry”, he said it quickly, looking away from her.

“No, it’s fine.” She blinked “I mean, I’m fine.  You didn’t hurt me.” _Quite the opposite_ , she wanted to say.  But he was quickly bringing the walls back up.  She could see it plain as anything.

He was decidedly matter-of-fact when he met her eyes again. No trace of what she had seen only a moment ago.  “It’s a deep bruise.  And large.” His voice was stern.  Almost reprimanding. “You should have told me.”

She felt annoyance creep up on her, and it was in her voice when she said, “It’s a bruise, Doctor.  I won’t die from a bruise”.  The Doctor frowned almost imperceptibly at ‘die’ and she regretted her choice of words immediately but didn’t acknowledge it.

“No,” he agreed, “but I can help you.” He stood stiffly, straightening his shirts. “Back shortly,” he said and was out of the room on a breath.

Clara sat blinking on her bed for a few moments before covering her face with her hands and carefully lowering herself back into her pillows with a miserable sigh.  “Well how was I supposed to know that?” she mumbled to the empty room, rubbing her itching eyes.

“Because I’m the Doctor,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Give a girl some warning, will you?” she said, pushing back up on an elbow to see him standing there…or more like leaning, or posing, against the doorframe with a tiny orange capsule of something between two fingers.

“Of course” he said dismissively, striding into the room and holding an arm straight out to her with the thing.  He looked past her, at a spot on the wall somewhere above her head.

“And just what is that?” she asked, eyebrows raised, not impressed by the change in attitude.  She was fairly certain she already knew, but she wanted him to talk.  If he was going to be all stiff and distant again, she’d make him at least talk to her.

“Basic dermal repair cream,” he answered simply. “One-time application, thin layer, rub until absorbed, good as new.”  He paused, finally looking back down at her.  “Almost.  It may take more than one application for yours.”

She looked doubtfully up at the little capsule and shook her head. “I’m going to need more than that.”

“It’ll cover more than it looks.” He set it on the sheet and turned around.  “Go ahead and use that up.”

Clara sighed, but pushed herself up to a sitting position and gingerly pulled the shirt off, keeping an eye on the Doctor’s back as she did so.  She knew he wouldn’t try to peek, but it felt strange to have him standing there all the same.  Frowning at the tiny capsule, she pinched the little T-shaped end of it and twisted.  It came away with a pop and a sweet, almost floral, scent wafted up to her.  “Well, at least it doesn’t stink”, she observed conversationally.

“Medicine doesn’t have to stink.  You lot will figure that out eventually,” he shrugged.

“Right.” His tone and whole demeanor was getting on her nerves now.  Funny how she could go from…whatever it was earlier…to wanting to hit him upside the head in a span of minutes.  But she mentally stamped on that thought and squeezed a bit of the sweet-smelling gel onto a finger.  It was clear and felt icy cold as she experimentally ran a line of it across her skin.  He was right.  The small amount of gel inside did indeed cover much more area than it seemed it would.  But even so, it was barely enough to cover the whole surface area of the bruise.  She’d had to spread it very thin indeed, but she felt an odd tingling a few moments after she’d finished.  The man never ceased to amaze with his endless supply of fantastic things.  Even as she watched, her skin cycled through the usual healing colors of a bruise and in less than a minute, the whole thing looked like it had already been mending for a week.  “Wow…” she said, despite her annoyance with the Doctor.  She heard him give a quiet, self-satisfied laugh, so she added “But I’ll still need more,” in a decidedly less impressed tone.

“What?”

He was half turned around when she whipped her shirt back up to cover herself.  “Hey!”

“Oh!” he started to turn away again but then spun back, staring at her bare shoulder. “It’s that…you didn’t tell me it was that bad.” He frowned at her and regarded the faded bruise critically for a moment, collecting himself again. “Right.  Well, it’ll definitely take more than one, but you need to wait at least six hours between applications.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as he turned to give her a moment of privacy.  Once his back was to her, she slipped her shirt back on.  It was much easier this time.  Her shoulder wasn’t nearly as sore.  Taking a deep breath, she swallowed her annoyance and let it out in a huff.  “Doctor,” she began more evenly.  “You can turn back now.” He did.

“Better?” he smiled at her; that smile he gave when he thought he’d done something impressive.

“Yes, much,” she said honestly, but didn’t quite return his smile. “I do still need another, though.  If you’ve got one.  Possibly two.” She hesitated and made an apologetic shrug “Three.”

His face fell almost comically. “Three?  What do you mean, three?  Where?” his eyes darted over her body again. “When?”

“When? Well, Missy shoved me down a hole.  It was a very deep hole.  Knocked me out.” She recounted it with little detail.  “As for where, well, don’t expect me to show you the whole thing, but…” she lifted her shirt on the right side where the bruise extended about a hand’s-breadth above her hip, an area he hadn’t been able to see before. “And it…ah, it goes pretty far down.” She dropped her shirt before carefully rolling up the pant leg until the bottom edge of the bruise was visible down the side of her knee.  “It’s a bit worse than the other,” she finished, watching his expression shift from curiosity to anger to dismay as he understood the extent of the damage.

When he spoke, his voice was full of disbelief. “How did you even walk?  No, forget walk… you ran!” He pulled his gaze from her leg back to her face, amazed.

“Adrenaline, I suspect.” She answered.  “I didn’t even realize it was as bad as it is until I saw it myself.”

He didn’t say anything this time as he turned to leave the room again, shaking his head.  He just dragged a hand down his face as he walked quickly out.  Left alone with her thoughts for a moment, Clara unwillingly flashed back to an image of the sewer floor rushing up at her and she muttered a curse under her breath.  She’d never get any sleep if this kept up, and she was so very tired.

Moments later, the Doctor returned, three small orange capsules in his outstretched hand.  “Here.  I’ll stand outside.”  He said it without really looking at her, and he walked back out immediately once she had taken them.

She had to remove her bottoms this time in order to get to the bruise properly, and she went about opening and applying the gel more quickly than before.  Again, she felt the tingle of it working and watched as the deep purple/red mark cycled through colors like some sort of abstract moving painting before settling.  It hadn’t faded nearly as much as the one on her shoulder, but it was still significantly better.  She set the empty shells on the bedside table and pulled her clothing back into place before calling the Doctor back in.  He looked at her expectantly.

“Better.  Thank you.”  She meant it. 

“Good.  Excellent,” he said, hands in pockets.  He stood there awkwardly for a moment before raising his eyebrows and nodding toward the door, rocking back on his heels. “You’re all set here.  You should get back to sleep.  Help with the healing.”

“I’d love to.” Clara agreed.

“Right then,” he said, stepping backward toward the door yet again.

“But…” she said pointedly, stopping him mid-step, “I’m not sure I can.”

“How do you mean?” he asked slowly, looking her over suspiciously, as if he’d find more injuries.

She paused, not wanting to admit it again, but knowing he’d already seen for himself. “Nightmares.  I keep…remembering.  In the Dalek.  Falling.  The gun.  I… well, I thought I was going to die, and it keeps replaying over in my mind.”

“I’m sorry, Clara,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t know.  It wasn’t your fault.” She pressed at her eyes with the heels of her hands for a moment, trying to get them to stop that irritating tired itch. “But the fact remains, it’s all stuck on repeat.”

The Doctor thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers.  “I have a pill in the med bay that’ll put you right out.  No dreams.  I’ll go fetch it f–“

“No, please, Doctor” she interrupted quickly.  She was sure the pill he was suggesting would work exactly as he said it would, but she didn’t want a pill.  What she wanted was company.  His, specifically.  Because the closer he was, the safer she felt.  It had always been that way, really.  So she wanted him to stay.  She wanted to fall asleep feeling safe, not just because she’d been dosed with some sort of sedative.  “Could you…stay?” she asked, looking across at him uncertainly, having no idea how he would respond to the request.  She felt somewhat childish and needy asking at all, but she really didn’t want to be alone again.  Not when her first attempt at dealing with it alone had ended with him having to come to her room and wake her up.

“Stay?” he repeated, unsure.

“Please? Just…in the room for a while?  There’s a chair…or you could sit here with me?” She lowered her eyes then, not wanting to see rejection and already starting to feel the anxiety creeping back at the prospect of having to try and keep herself from thinking again.  But then she felt the mattress sag slightly at her side.

He was sitting at the foot of her bed.  Barely. “Of course.  If it’ll help.”  He motioned toward the nest of pillows she had vacated. “You just get back to sleep, and I’ll stay here.”  The words sounded somewhat stiff. Uncomfortable.  But he had said them.

Feeling immensely relieved, Clara leaned over and squeezed the hand on the edge of her bed.  “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said quietly. 

Once she had made herself as comfortable as she could again, which was a much easier feat after the gel, she glanced toward the Doctor and then closed her eyes.  She thought, at the back of her mind, that she was missing some courtesy, and that if she were less drained she might have felt self-conscious in this situation.  However, her exhaustion refused to permit it, so she didn’t think on it.  She almost didn’t notice as the lights dimmed in the room, and smiled to herself at that bit of thoughtfulness. The Doctor hadn’t moved at all from his perch at the foot of the bed, not even to sit more comfortably, but he was there, and his presence was enough to keep the worst of her memories away for the moment. 

***

The Doctor sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Clara sank into her pillows and closed her eyes.  He felt a certain amount of satisfaction that she had wanted him to stay.  Perhaps it was partly relief.  Relief that even after what he had put her through, she still wanted him around.  More than that, she wanted him near her.  It had been he who had scared her, threatened her at gunpoint.  True, it had been Missy who had jammed her into a Dalek and caused her injuries, but she wouldn’t have been with Missy at all if it weren’t for him.  It was that guilt and his instinctual urge to run from things that had kept him deflecting her when they had finally left Skaro.  He had masterfully repelled and redirected until she had given up.  Come to think of it, when would she have even had the opportunity to tell him she was hurt when he hadn’t let her get a word in?  Then again, she wouldn’t have.  She was that kind of person.  The injuries weren’t debilitating, so it wasn’t worth mentioning.  Not to her.

He waited, unmoving, until he heard her breathing settle into the steady rhythm of sleep.  For a while, he closed his eyes and just listened to the sounds of the TARDIS humming and Clara breathing.  When on his own, the relative silence was deafening.  Claustrophobic.  Crushing.  Sure, he had a link with the TARDIS.  They could communicate on some level.  They had an understanding.  A kind of relationship.  But it wasn’t the same, and the TARDIS understood that.  He supposed that’s why she seemed to have finally come around to Clara.  After a little while longer, he stood from the bed and walked around the room quietly, just to do something.  He heard Clara stir slightly, and turned to find her still asleep, but with a tiny frown on her face.  He wondered what she was dreaming of.  He could find out.  Simple as touching her hand.  Unconscious minds were so very open.  But he wouldn’t do that to her.  Of course he wouldn’t.  Instead, feeling he had stayed long enough, he made his way to the door.  By the time he had turned the handle and taken one step through, Clara’s stirrings had turned into something more.  Her sleepy breathing had picked up pace and she made a muffled sound of distress behind him. 

“Clara?” he whispered, turning back to face her.  She was still asleep, but her face was beginning to take on the shadow of the expression he had seen the first time he had come in.  He crossed to her and touched her shoulder gently.  Almost at once, her expression softened.  Well, that settled it.  He wasn’t leaving.  He stooped for a moment, pulling off his shoes, before going around to sit on the opposite side of the bed.

He gave her a few minutes more to settle back into the calm deep breathing of easy sleep before he carefully lowered himself down onto the bed beside her.  He counted the hours with his fingers in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More action next chapter, I promise!


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes Clara on a day trip to clear both of their minds with some shopping.

It felt like several hours had passed when Clara blinked herself awake, curled on her side and tucked into her pillows.  When she lifted her head, it was the Doctor’s face that she saw first, and she smiled.  He really had stayed with her, and not just until she’d fallen asleep, either.  He seemed to be asleep himself now – eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar, and his hand resting very close to her.  Her first instinct was to reach out and touch him.  Well, what she really wanted to do was run her fingers through the mess of wild silver curls that he was calling hair these days, but she resisted it.  Something like that would certainly wake him, and if he woke up to that, it would only make him run.  Instead, she settled for resting her hand next to his, just barely far enough apart that they didn’t touch.  It was very difficult, though, the not touching.  There was little else she wanted to do more at the moment.  However, going back to sleep was high on the list.  Thinking that the Doctor could likely use some hours of sleep himself, she bit down any other thoughts of disturbing him.  When she drifted off to sleep again a few minutes later, it was with his peaceful face in her mind.

When next she woke, the Doctor was nowhere in sight.  She hadn’t expected him to be, of course, but it would have been nice.  With a sigh, she stretched, turned over, and saw four new capsules of healing gel and a glass of water on the bedside table.  She pushed herself up with a sleepy groan and hung her legs over the side of the bed. 

***

It had been nearly thirty minutes since he had woken on Clara’s bed to find her still asleep, but with one of her hands right alongside his own. He wondered if she had woken, or if it were simply a coincidence and wasn’t actually sure which one he preferred.  He certainly hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but even he couldn’t put it off forever.  Still, if it was going to happen, he couldn’t think of any better place for it.  “Ah, there we are.  Perfect,” he said to himself, pulling down a lever and flicking off a switch to his left.  The TARDIS jolted slightly as she landed and he hopped to the side, easily catching his balance again.

“Hey, now!”

“Oh!” He looked up in time to see water splash to the floor, emptying half of Clara’s glass.  The one he had left her, if he wasn’t mistaken. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Only water,” she shrugged, though her expression read mildly annoyed all the same.

“Did you use the capsules?”

“I did, thank you.”  She sat casually on a metal stair, hands wrapped around her glass, looking a little groggy, but rested.  After a sip of water, she continued, “I don’t think I’ll need any more for my shoulder.”

“Good.  That’s good.” He watched her over the top of the console, trying to decide what to say next.  He supposed she must be hungry.  There was plenty of food in the TARDIS, of course, but there was now also food outside.  Would she be up to leaving so soon?  Goodness knows he wanted to get out.  There was too much time to think in the TARDIS.  Too much time to dwell and obsess.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, tapping a fingernail against the side of her glass.

He stopped short on his way around the console, eyebrows raised. “For what?” If it was for the healing gel, she certainly didn’t need to thank him for that.  He should have given that to her straight away.  Would have done, had he known.

“For last night.” She clarified. “For staying with me.”

“Oh. Right. Yes, that.” He stood awkwardly for a moment. “My…pleasure.” He grimaced, knowing that had not come out quite the way he had intended, but she smiled at him all the same.  “It wasn’t night, though.”

She shook her head, amused. “All right, so is it night now?  Should I be saying ‘good night’ to you? Or ‘good afternoon’?”

“No, well…no, it’s morning now.” She cocked her head to the side and raised her own eyebrows this time, bemused. “I’ve reset the cycle.  It wasn’t night, but now it’s morning.”

“If you say so.”  She smiled at him and shook her head, clearly dismissing the topic as a lost cause. “So, where are we now?  Or when?  I felt us land, so where did you take us?”  She set her glass on the floor at her feet. “I hope it’s somewhere with food, I’m starving.”

“Are you?  Well, that makes sense.  When was the last time you ate?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Just outside of this door is a world of wonders.  Literally a world!  Biggest market this side of the galaxy.  Whole planet is a market, actually.  There’s a planet dedicated to everything out there.  Markets, amusement, parties, libraries...”

“There’s a library planet?”

“Ah, right. Yes, well, that one’s been shut down.  Problem with the lights.  That’s beside the point, though.  Shall we go see the sights?” He made a grand, sweeping gesture toward the door.

“That depends.  Is there food?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes.” She looked down at her clothing and then up at him, “But let me change first.”

“If you must,” he said lightly, waving his hand back dismissively as she walked back out of the room.

***

Clara regretted that she hadn’t asked about the weather outside before walking off, but she wasn’t about to go back and ask now.  Instead, she made sure to wear layers.  After she had pulled her boots on and brushed her hair, she dug a silver necklace out of a small pouch on a whim.  It was a simple thing, but it went with the outfit.  Maybe a simple day out was what she needed.  Something to clear her head and distract her from the insanity of recent events.  Pinning half of her hair back out of her face, she checked herself over in the mirror one last time before making her way back to the Doctor.

When she returned to where he was waiting, she found him standing by the door, one hand flat on the paneling, the other held out toward her.  She grinned and took the last few steps at a run, grabbed his hand and walked through the doors with him.

She pulled up short immediately, however, dragging the Doctor to a stop.  Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t this.  “Oh!” she couldn’t help exclaiming, looking up at the sky.  The violet sky.  The violet sky in which hung one large and one smaller planet, plus a large orange sun.  Clara had visited plenty of interesting places with the Doctor, but this one was just _beautiful_.  Completely aside from the painted-looking sky, just what was directly in front of her was dazzling.  It was like no market she’d ever seen.  Rows of stalls, tents and booths of all sizes and colors spidered off in all directions, endlessly.  Here and there, a more solid type of building jutted up from the sea of low structures, catching the light with polished stone and glass.

“Come on,” said the Doctor, pulling her gently by the hand, reminding her that he was there.  “Lots to see.”

“No kidding,” she whispered, still dazed.  She walked slowly behind him, letting him guide her through the crowd.  Everywhere she looked was something amazing.  If it didn’t sparkle, it glowed.  There were the brightest and deepest of colors all around her.  Booths full of fabrics for which she had no adequate description slipped by as they walked on.  “Where are we, exactly?” she asked at last.

“Voralimalioran—“ he huffed, cutting himself off “It’s such a long name when you have to speak it. Suffice it to say, it’s a market planet, like I said.  Whole thing.  Now, are you still hungry?”

She had almost forgotten, but just as he mentioned it, her hunger returned full force. “Very.”

“Good.  If I remember correctly, there should be a rather large sector of food stalls just a few rows down.  Excellent everything.  Well, if you’re looking for sweets, then Barastabon would be the place, but otherwise, everything is excellent.”

She blinked up at him, one eyebrow raised, smiling slightly. “No, I don’t need sweets.”  He was being a bit odd, she thought.  More odd than usual, that is.  Not the least reason being that he was still holding her hand.  But she sure wasn’t going to bring attention to the fact and run the risk of losing it.

The Doctor led her along, letting her stop and look at whatever she liked along the way.  And there were many things. If she hadn’t been so hungry, she would have spent considerably more time looking.  As it was, she eventually found herself sitting at a small, round, blueish table with a bowl of what she could only describe as stew.  It was full of spices she couldn’t place, and had an overall burnt orange kind of color. Despite the odd appearance, it was filling, warm, and very very good.  With it, she had a drink similar to water, but with a kind of floral undernote.  Across the table from her, the Doctor was absently nibbling the edges of a yellow pastry crust, his mug full of a deep brown liquid which he compared to coffee, but reeked of cooked broccoli.  She had hastily turned down his offer of a taste.  The two of them sat in relative silence while they ate.  Clara watched the others at the market with interest.  There seemed to be no end to the variety of life in just this small area of one planet.  Some aliens, she recognized.  Others…most, really…not at all.  And still others, she wasn’t sure were life forms at all except that they seemed to move with purpose.

It wasn’t until she had finished and had been sitting and quietly watching passersby for several minutes, that she noticed the feeling that she was being watched herself.  And indeed she was.  Turning, she caught the Doctor’s own eyes staring her direction.  He wasn’t looking at her face. His gaze was too low for that, but not low enough to be inappropriate.  “Penny for your thoughts?” she prompted lightly.

He blinked and straightened in his seat immediately, meeting her eyes. “Sorry, I was…I was just admiring your necklace.” His eyes dropped to it for a moment as if to prove his point.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “My necklace?” she said doubtfully.

“Yes.  It’s…pretty,” he said slowly, and then quickly averted his eyes, looking somewhere off to his left without actually focusing, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well, thank you”, she said politely, not wanting to push him when he was so obviously trying to retreat.  But she smiled to herself anyway. 

After they had eaten, and gone to look at what Clara thought could have been a petting zoo or pet shop, the Doctor gave her a small pouch filled with small, variously colored spheres of what looked to her like glass, but were apparently the local currency.  She felt rather like she was carrying a bag of marbles, except each one had either a dulled spike or what looked like a series of scratches across it. 

The rest of the day passed without issue.  No sudden emergencies arose, no cultural misunderstandings, and certainly nobody was out to kill them.  By the time they decided to head back to the TARDIS, the violet sky had turned the deepest shade of blue, and Clara’s arms were supporting the weight of many purchases.  She had bought a few items of flowy clothing, softer than anything she had ever worn before, and a handful of jewelry items.  Her favorite was a fine chain of a gold-like metal, but warm to the touch, from which hung a pendant that seemed to flow and shift slightly, like melted candle wax.  She inwardly regretted that she’d likely never be able to wear it on Earth.

“Almost there,” said the Doctor.  “Just this way.”

Clara bit back a squeak at the feeling of fingers pressed to her lower back.  The Doctor was guiding her around the bend, and she was fairly certain he wasn’t aware that he was doing it.  At least, if he was, he didn’t give any indication of it.  She spent the rest of the short walk back to the TARDIS in a state of flustered tension which only eased once the Doctor removed his hand to open the door for her.

“Thanks!” she said a little too brightly and with a hop as she entered.  “I’ll just drop this off at my room then, shall I?”  She didn’t wait for a response before spinning on her heel and walking quickly to the familiar corridor.

Once in the room, she placed her new purchases on the bed and sat down on the edge of it herself, smiling.  It had been a very pleasant day.  Nothing had interrupted the casual excursion, he had trailed behind her or pulled her along by the hand to point things out.  Small talk, while sparse, was still a thing that happened, and she liked it.  Sometimes she caught him watching her, and he’d look away, feigning interest in whatever was nearest.  At other times, he seemed to just hover near her, never more than a few steps away.  Not that she was complaining.  If she’d had her way, they’d have been hand in hand the whole time. 

By the TARDIS’ internal cycle, it was evening.  She and the Doctor didn’t often eat together on the TARDIS, but Clara hoped that this might be an exception.  She removed a few layers, leaving her in black leggings, and an over-long white shirt.  She ditched the shoes and headed to the door.

***

The Doctor paced around the smallest of the three kitchens, wringing his hands as he considered whether or not to actually eat something.  He wasn’t even hungry.  He was only there because he knew it was the kitchen Clara preferred.  Would she be hungry?  He hoped so.  They hadn’t eaten since their late breakfast on the planet.  She had to be hungry by now.  If he was honest with himself, he was anxious.  Since Skaro, he had been anxious.  Ever since getting her back, he had been reluctant to let himself be far from her.  He’d never admit that aloud, of course.  But it was true all the same.  He had been relieved when she had wanted him to stay with her the night before.  Half the reason for the day’s excursion was so that he would have an excuse to be near her.  A crowded market planet almost guaranteed that he’d have to stay close to guide and explain.  But despite the surprisingly good day, Clara had practically run away once they were back on the TARDIS.  He had gotten bold and chanced what he’d hoped was a casual guiding hand on the last leg of their return, but it had obviously backfired.  He’d made a miscalculation.  Overstepped himself.  Frightened her off.  So all he could do now was hope she’d show up for some food.

“Oh! You’re here!” came a cheerful voice from behind him.

He hadn’t heard her walk in.  She could be unnervingly quiet sometimes without even trying.  A smile had spread on his face at her voice, but he reigned it back in before he turned around.  “Yes, I am.” He had meant to add a witty remark, but found himself momentarily unable to remember how to speak with a mouth gone dry.  She’d not actually changed her clothes from earlier, but had instead removed much of them.  What she was left with was a flimsy, almost sheer top over a pair of thin black leggings which left little to the imagination.  “Ah…” he stammered.

“What?” Clara looked down at herself, pulling the bottom hem of her shirt out to look at it “Do I have a stain?”

“No, no.  Just wondering if…” he scrambled for something plausible.

Her eyes narrowed in the way that usually meant she was trying to get the measure of him, before she supplied, “If I’m hungry?  Because yes, I absolutely am.” She smiled at him as she walked over to the small stack of plates and bowls against the far wall, turning sideways to get by in the small space, brushing against him in the process. 

It would have been polite to move.  To let her have a bit of space to work in.  It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.  So he pretended not to realize as he made a show of examining his glasses.  It had been his M.O. almost since his first days in this body, feigning indifference, being purposely rude, pretending not to notice when she changed anything about herself.  Whereas back then, it had been something of a defense mechanism, now he was using it to get closer to her.  He allowed a few more instances of jostling before asking, “what’re you making?”

“Soup.  Can of.  Where’s the opener?” she checked her third drawer, twisting a bit in an effort not to bump into him as she bent down before standing with a huff and adding “And would you kindly vacate the area?  I can’t move in here with you standing there like a great useless stone.”  As she said it, she grabbed him loosely by the waist and pushed him over to the side before pulling him down onto the little corner booth in the back of the room and walking away again with a nod.

Even once her hands left his sides, his skin still felt where they had been.  He cleared his throat quickly before saying “In the refrigerator”, and smiled as she made a face at him.  “Where else?”

“In the refrigerator…” she said, turning and walking to it. “Who keeps a can opener in the refrigerator?”  There was a pause as she reached in and rummaged around for a moment. “In the refrigerator, under a bag of carrots.  Honestly, Doctor.” She pulled it out and pointed it at him accusingly before adding “Want some?”

“Nah,” he replied a bit distractedly, a little more focused on half-imagining her shape through her flimsy top than he was on putting fuel into his own body.  He watched her shrug and then putter about the small kitchen as the soup warmed in the machine she had come to call his “fancy future microwave”.  It was an apt enough description, though it bore little physical resemblance to the kitchen microwaves she was familiar with.  There was no door and no buttons, for one. 

He set his glasses casually on his face as he made a show of looking around the kitchen, though his eyes never actually left Clara as she leaned against the countertop.  He hated himself sometimes for the way she made him feel toward her.  He had been dead set on letting nobody get close to him this regeneration.  Time after time after time he had only ever ended up hurting.  Either those he found himself caring about were hurt, or he was, or both.  Coming into this regeneration, he knew how he had felt about Clara.  He had done a decent job at keeping himself in check, but he remembered.  He remembered and he had been determined to put a stop to it.  New regeneration, new personality, new likes and dislikes.  The memories and feelings of previous incarnations faded slightly with the occurrence, every time.  Whatever his last self had felt for Clara, it was over the second he came into his new body, demoted to a distant, muted memory.  It was like remembering that you were once excited about something as a child.  It is remembered, but it doesn’t really reach the surface anymore.  So he had done his absolute best to distance himself from her.  But over time that had failed him.  Over time, those walls got chipped and cracked, and she broke through.  And now here he was, only halfheartedly fighting against what he already felt.  Here he was, playing dumb in the hope it would lead to accidental touches.  Here he was, after legitimately thinking she was dead, hanging on tighter than ever to his impossible girl, knowing just how much it was going to hurt when she eventually left.  Because eventually she would leave, as they all did.  One way or another.  He would be alone again, and he could already feel the shadow of it like a cloud over his hearts.  Had already felt the agony of her loss, however temporarily.  A preview of what was to come. 

“Doctor?” he had gotten so wrapped up in his own mind that he hadn’t noticed Clara cross to the table. “Are you ok?”  She sat down across from him and put a hand over his on the table, looking at him with those big, dark eyes full of concern. 

“Of course!” he said, falsely bright.  “Why wouldn’t I be?” he hung a smile on his face to back up his words, but he knew it was unconvincing by the way she only narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t know.” She said, reaching forward until she had pulled the glasses from his face.  He averted his eyes, knowing how he must look.  She set the glasses on the table between them and slid her other hand beneath his, holding it gently.  She studied him for a short while, trying to puzzle it out, eventually asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”  When he shook his head, she continued, “Do you want to be alone for a while?”

Almost before she could finish the question, he reached out his other hand and clasped it over top of their others, holding her there “No!” He met her eyes again, seeing surprise along with the concern now. He swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat and said more calmly, “Please.  No, I’d rather not be alone at the moment.”

“Ok.”

They sat in silence for what could have been any amount of time at all, hand in hand across the table.  Eventually, the Doctor shook his head, beginning to feel slightly self-conscious. “Your soup is going to get cold.”

Clara looked down at the bowl of soup beside her and smiled. “Pretty sure it’s a lost cause.”  She raised her eyebrows and nodded toward their hands, “but if I could get a hand back, I’ll eat it anyway.  Still hungry.”

“Of course!” He immediately loosened his grip on her and pulled his hands right off of the table to rest on his knees.  He caught a flash of some other expression cross her face, but it was gone before it could register properly. 

She ate quickly, glancing up at him every once in a while until she had finished.  She brought her bowl to the sink and washed up before turning back toward him, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “It’s been a long day.  A good day! But a long day.  I was thinking I’d just go back to my room.”  When he said nothing, she went on, “Are you ok?  Do you want to come with me? Do you want me to stay here?”

He finally sat up straight and composed his face. “I’m fine, Clara.  Really.  You get some rest.”

She looked at him doubtfully, but didn’t challenge him.  Instead, she crossed to him, squeezed his shoulder briefly, and then leaned down to kiss him lightly on the cheek.  “All right.  Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

She hesitated a moment before walking toward the doorway, but before she turned the corner, she called back, “Good night, Doctor.”

“Good night, Clara.” He said back, staring at the empty doorway as he let his mind slide back into that dark place again.  He rubbed at his face with his hands and eventually stood up, hanging his glasses from the front of his shirt.  It wouldn’t do to dwell on the future.  He needed a distraction.  There was only so much fiddling the TARDIS would allow, and he was pretty sure he’d reached his limit, so he settled on the library.  If anything could distract him, it was getting lost in the vast amount of books in there.

It took him a while to get to the library.  His mind was so distracted that he missed the correct turns multiple times, and the TARDIS wasn’t offering any help.  All in all, it took nearly half an hour.  By the time he got there, he had rather lost interest, and settled for sitting on the floor, propped against a bookcase full of Martian literature.  Not caring what he read at all, he simply reached behind him and opened the first book he touched.  It turned out to be a book of biographies, detailing the life and accomplishments of some of the more influential Martian architects.  Why not.  But even as his eyes took in the words, his mind wandered.  While the words on the page told of architectural feats of imagination, his mind was sliding slowly back into the dark. 


	4. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has nightmares, too. It's Clara's turn to help him through them.

Clara woke with a start, mechanical Dalek voices still echoing loudly in her ears, lying frozen as she slowly regained a sense of her surroundings. It took a minute, but she eventually calmed down enough to talk herself back to sense.  She was safe on the TARDIS. The Doctor was nearby somewhere on the ship.  But there was something else nagging at her.  A feeling that she was missing something important.  It was very much like not quite being able to think of a word that’s right on the tip of the tongue. The more she strained to reach it, the further out of her grasp it slid.  Frowning, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing herself to clear her mind. 

Slowly, faint whispers of thoughts started to filter into her mind, weaving themselves together almost haphazardly until she suddenly understood.  It was the TARDIS.  Clara hadn’t just woken on her own, the TARDIS had been attempting to get her attention.  _But why_?  She tried to mentally ask the question, but hadn’t the faintest idea how to do it.  Thankfully, the TARDIS was one step ahead of her. Now that Clara was properly aware of what was happening, the message was becoming clearer.  The TARDIS wanted her to get up.  Go somewhere.  Something about the Doctor.  But where was he?  There was an undercurrent of urgency to the message.  She wanted Clara go to him quickly.  _The library_.  The TARDIS communicated with her via a confusing mix of wispy images and shadows of feelings which Clara wasn’t quite attuned to receiving, but she figured it out quickly.  The TARDIS wouldn’t be trying to communicate, much less telling her where to go, if there was no reason.  A thread of worry began to wind its way from her stomach up into her chest.  She didn’t think twice about rushing out of her room to find the Doctor as she padded barefoot down the corridor.  She received simple psychic instructions for where and when to turn from the TARDIS, who seemed intent on getting her there quickly.  The directions were much easier to understand than the initial communication.  In what seemed like hardly any time at all, she came to the doorway she recognized as the one for the library.  The presence in her mind retreated, apparently satisfied.  Clara was on her own. 

She walked quickly through rows of books, past stacks of tomes and through an aisle of labeled glass jars.  It wasn’t until several overflowing bookcases later that she finally spotted The Doctor.  Though she was relieved to have found him, the state he was in was dreadful.  He lay on the floor with his eyes shut tight, curled inward on himself, knees drawn up with one hand pressing into the thick rug, the other fisted into his discarded second t-shirt, whole body visibly trembling.  His ashen face was a mask of anguish.

“Doctor!” She exclaimed, alarmed, dropping to her knees beside him.  He gave no indication that he had heard her.  “Doctor, wake up.” She grasped his upper arm gently, her other hand covering the one he had tangled into his t-shirt.  “Can you hear me, Doctor?”  He made a strangled noise through his teeth which struck her to the heart, yet he remained asleep, tense, and trembling.  Clara mentally kicked herself.  Of course she wasn’t the only one who would have been affected by recent events.  She didn’t even fully know what he had gone through.  The Doctor had lived through much more than she had in his lifetime. He had endured far more than she probably ever even could.  But that didn’t mean that nothing reached him anymore.  Clara forgot sometimes that the Doctor wasn’t invulnerable, despite much of his behavior indicating the opposite. She knew that he generally avoided sleeping unless he was in dire need of it.  Was this what he was trying to keep away from? Nightmares?  Was he reliving something just now as she had done?  Was it her turn to drag him out from his personal hell? She squeezed the hand under hers as anxious tears welled in her eyes.  Uselessly, she tried to blink them back.  “Doctor…” Her voice came out sounding small and more than a little bit frightened. 

“…stop,” he hissed through his clenched teeth, pleading.

“Doctor, please wake up,” she begged him.  She couldn’t bear to see him like this, trapped in his own mind.  Helpless.  She moved her hand from his arm and almost unconsciously smoothed back his hair before gently running her fingers along the side of his face, wanting to give him some sort of comfort from whatever was happening but not knowing how.  “Doctor, it’s Clara.  Can you hear me?”

He suddenly cried out a wordless wail of pain, making Clara jump, but the terrible sound died out almost immediately as he finally opened his eyes.  They were wide and wild and entirely lost.  But then they found her, and he froze.  All in a moment, he snatched her hand from his face, gripping it almost painfully, and pressed it hard to his chest, throwing her slightly off balance as he simultaneously pushed himself up on his elbow. “Clara! You’re…” He took several quick breaths, eyes darting about her face as if to take in every detail. “Clara…” and with no warning, he lunged upward and wrapped his other arm around her, burying his face between her neck and shoulder.

“Oh!” Clara gasped in surprise, but suppressed any other exclamation as his weight pulled her awkwardly down and forward.  She could feel his breath against her shoulder, and his hearts hammering against the hand that was still pressed to his chest between them.  ‘Shocked’ was too mild a word for how she felt just then.  Shifting her own weight as well as she could, she slowly raised her free hand to rest on his back, holding him close as she whispered, “shh, you’re ok.”  Clara guessed this was another one of those times where a hug was a good way to hide one’s face. By the way he clung to her, she doubted very much that he trusted his expression not to betray him, though she wished he would trust her with it instead.  She could tell he was concentrating on getting himself back under control, but it still took several more minutes before the trembling subsided and his grip on her slackened.  He pulled back slightly, letting the arm around her fall to the floor to support his weight instead, but he continued to rest his forehead against her shoulder.  He didn’t release the hand pressed to his chest. It was a decidedly uncomfortable angle to have her hand bent in for so long, but she’d be damned if she made the slightest move to retrieve it from him. 

“I’m sorry” he muttered at last, voice hoarse. 

“No, don’t be.” She answered softly, running her free hand upward until her fingers brushed the hair at the nape of his neck.  “It’s all right.” And she pressed a kiss onto the top of his head before she realized what she was doing and froze for half a second before deciding not to draw attention to it.

The Doctor slowly pushed himself upright, breaking away from her reluctantly and dragging a hand down his face.  The hand grasping hers finally relaxed, and he lowered both of them to his bent knee instead.  Searching his expression, Clara noticed that his blue eyes were red-rimmed as he looked anywhere but at her. Embarrassed?  “Clara, ah…” he began, sounding like he was beginning an explanation, but trailing off into silence instead.

She held his hand in both of hers until he looked at her.  Definitely embarrassed.  But also drained. Exhausted. “Nightmare?” she prompted gently.  “Memory?”

“Both.” He said at last, but didn’t elaborate.

“You can tell me, Doctor.”  She gave him a small, encouraging smile, “You don’t have to hide it from me.”

“Oh, Clara…” his body slumped, whatever fight was left in him, gone.  “Yes,” he began, “Yes, it was a memory.  Davros stealing my regeneration energy.” He shook his head “I told you I’d meant to help him.  Just a little.  I’d hoped…but I knew it was a fool’s hope.  I was prepared for a trap.  And it was one.” 

When he didn’t speak again, she pressed gently, watching his face, “What happened?”

“He took the energy by force.  I knew he would try and I knew what I had to do to turn it around.” His hand clenched within hers “But he took more than he needed.  I should have expected it.  He just kept _taking_.  I knew it would be painful, but…oh, it was…excruciating.  Agony.  Like fire, electrocution and flaying all at once, and I couldn’t let go.  I knew I was going to die before, but that was the moment I knew it was coming.  I was going to die and you were dead.  There was nothing…”

She squeezed his hand again, but felt as though it was her heart being crushed instead.  His recollection of what had happened to him set a stone of anger in her stomach which made her feel ill as her mind supplied images for his descriptions.  Weakly, she offered, “but you’re ok now.  We both are.  We’re safe.”

“Yes.” He swallowed thickly. “But Clara, what I saw… You were shot by a Dalek.  You were gone, and it was— “

“Not real.” She interjected quickly.  “I was shot, but it activated the vortex manipulator.”

“It was real enough.” He averted his eyes, looking at the rug beneath them, mouth pressed into the thin line of a grimace.  “What I… _felt_ ,” he seemed to have trouble getting that word out, “was real enough.”

Clara felt as though someone had pressed the air out of her lungs.  Recounting what had happened to him was one thing, but telling her how he had felt about losing her? Emotional openness wasn’t a thing he did.  She had heard his words as he broadcasted them to all of Skaro, but seeing him here, his face, wrung her heart.  This unexpected openness was likely only due to the fact that he had literally just woken up.  She didn’t think he’d ever offer this much information if he’d had a clear head.  She felt almost guilty.  As if she were listening in on something she shouldn’t be.  But she couldn’t ignore it.  Especially not since it was her apparent death which was causing him pain.  “Doctor…”  She waited for him to look at her, “I’m sorry.”  The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt him.  Even if it wasn’t her fault.

“No.” He took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers.  “No, don’t you ever be sorry.”

With an apologetic smile, Clara leaned forward to kiss his cheek as she’d done in the kitchen, but he turned into it on a breath, catching her lips with his instead.  She pulled back in surprise, searching his face, but his eyes were closed.  He wasn’t apologizing or retreating, but seemed to be preparing for backlash.  “Doctor…”

Some thin wall of restraint broke within her as she peered into his face.  The brief touch of his lips against hers was new, and not nearly enough.  Feeling as though she were moving in slow motion, not quite believing what she was doing, Clara grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and pulled him into a hard, hungry kiss herself.  One of his arms wrapped immediately around her waist, the other hand rising to rest gingerly along her neck and collarbone as he opened his mouth and nipped at her lips with his teeth, begging entry.  She gave it gladly, and a dam of blocked up feelings burst inside her chest.  Hands roamed and grabbed as tongues tasted what had once been forbidden.  Clara tasted salt in the kiss and couldn’t tell whose tears they were, nor did she care.  She was kissing the Doctor.  She had her fingers tangled into the curls at the back of his head and another hand exploring the landscape of his body.  The Doctor pulled her close with one arm while his other hand ran down her side until it rested low on her hip.  The universe could have imploded at that moment and she wouldn’t have noticed.

Clara hadn’t even registered her need for oxygen until he broke from her.  Kissing him was _like_ oxygen.  Though not for her lungs, which gulped in the now-accessible air as greedily as her hands were exploring his body.  Her head was swimming, but she didn’t think it had anything to do with oxygen deprivation as the Doctor moved his lips seamlessly from her mouth down along her jaw and to her throat, where tongue and teeth joined his exploration of her skin.  She could hear the whimpering noises she was making, but didn’t care.  All she cared for was that the Doctor didn’t stop. 

***

He had very nearly forgotten how needy human lungs were, distracted as he was by the press of her lips and her warm body under his hands.  The echoes of his nightmare still lingered in his mind, but the pain of it was gone, chased away by the brilliant reality that was Clara.  It had been an impulse decision to turn into what was clearly going to be a kiss on the cheek, but he couldn’t help himself.  The pain of losing her was still too real.  Everything that had held him back seemed so trivial in the wake of that revisited blinding grief.  He had expected shock.  He had expected a slap, even.  What he hadn’t expected was for her to pull him back in.  He hadn’t expected the flush of color in her cheeks, or the new tears in her eyes.  And yet here he was with her now straddled across his thighs, tasting the delicate skin of her neck over a rapid pulse.  The sounds she made as he explored were a kind of ecstasy of their own.  Clara’s hand in his hair sent shivers down his spine and he gasped as her other unexpectedly slipped up under his t-shirt, hot against his cool skin as it slid up over his ribs. 

“Doctor,” she breathed, turning her head to try and recapture his mouth again. 

“Clara,” was all he could manage to say under the circumstances before obliging and sucking her lower lip between his teeth, and her resulting groan went straight to his groin. He moved his own hand slowly up her body again, brushing against the outer swell of her breast on the way up to her neck, where his thumb ghosted over the hollow of her throat. He felt Clara tremble as she breathed something he couldn’t catch against his lips.  The hand that had been trailing over his stomach suddenly moved south, and he broke their kiss in surprise, pressing his forehead against hers.  His mind was reeling and his body was waking up in ways he wasn’t even sure it could this time around, but something on the edge of his consciousness was pulling him back.  Some nagging, bothersome fragment in the logical part of his brain was trying to snap him back out of it.  Suddenly, what he was doing seemed inappropriate.  Perhaps even predatory.  Had he taken unfair advantage of the situation?  Somehow, now that his brain had begun to work again, he felt out of line.  Doubts flooded into his mind until he finally reached down and gently took her hand, stopping her from going any further, but not wanting to break apart.

***

Clara pulled back slightly, feeling suddenly self-conscious, searching the Doctor’s face.  His eyes were closed, brows drawn together in an almost pained looking frown, but he hadn’t moved his hands away from her.  “Ok,” she said quietly, breathless, trying get her heart to stop racing, “ok.”  He had been more than willing.  He had been enthusiastic.  He had initiated.  But somewhere along the way, he’d had second thoughts, and she had to accept that.  She closed her own eyes and touched her forehead to his again, willing her body to calm down, cool off, quit being so needy…which would be easier if the Doctor didn’t still have his fingers softly caressing her neck.  She lowered her free hand to rest on his chest, and their breathing was the only sound in the library aside from the hum of the TARDIS until Clara broke the silence.  “Doctor?”

“I’m sorry” he said immediately, voice hoarse.

“No, it’s ok.” She sat back a little, watching his face as she took his hand from her neck.  He had made the first move, but she had taken it too far, too quickly.  Of course she had.  This was the same Doctor who had only recently started permitting hugs.  How could she have thought he’d move any faster with this?  She brought their hands together and kissed his fingers almost apologetically before slipping sideways off of his legs, to the floor.   She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing whatever else she was feeling back down before looking around them. 

“Clara— “

She shook her head slightly, cutting off whatever he had been about to say.  She recognized that inflection, and she didn’t want him making apologies. He didn’t attempt to begin again.  After a few more moments of scanning their surroundings, she spotted what she had been looking for.  Scattered throughout the library were reading areas.  Some were couches, others tables with chairs, and still others, piles of pillows on the floor.  The latter was what was nearest to them.  She had no desire to walk far, and even less to leave him, so she stood slowly, feeling a little light-headed, and held her hand out to him.  “Come on, Doctor,” she said with a weak smile, “bed time.”

He took her hand and stood, watching her curiously as she led him to the small heap of pillows that were piled at the end of another row of books, against the wall.  “Clara, I— “

“I know, Doctor.”  She squeezed his hand and nudged a few pillows around with her foot before pulling him down with her on top of them.  “Just bed time.”  She smiled and waited until he was lying down, albeit somewhat awkwardly, before lying down herself.  Clara considered for a moment curling into him, but given the way things had gone just minutes before, she changed her mind. She didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was.  Instead, she turned onto her side, bent her knees, and tucked her hands up under her chin.  They could figure things out in the morning.  Or the Doctor would avoid her as he was always more likely to do when made uncomfortable.  But it couldn’t be ignored forever, and she knew they would figure this out eventually.  So for now, she’d keep to herself and give the Doctor his space.  “Good night, Doctor.” She said quietly, closing her eyes at last.

There was no movement beside her.  At least he wasn’t running away.  She sighed, a little sad to think that was the best she could hope for out of the situation, but then she felt the Doctor’s hand cover her own and he whispered, “Good night, Clara.”  She smiled into the pillow, certain she would have no nightmares tonight. 


	5. A Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor brings his walls up again, and Clara gets unintentionally drunk.

Clara woke slowly, only gradually remembering where she was as the previous night came back to her.  She could tell she was alone long before she opened her eyes, but hadn’t really expected any differently.  Of course he was gone.  The question was _where_ he had gone.  He had to be in the TARDIS somewhere, but the TARDIS was not a small place.  If he was serious about not wanting to be found, it would take ages to even get near him, and longer if the TARDIS was helping.  Actually, in that case, she could likely spend a literal lifetime searching and never see hide nor hair of him again.  But he wouldn’t do that.  He may be feeling awkward after what had happened, she thought. Indeed, so was she.  But he wouldn’t stay away long.  Not from her.  With a stretch and a sleepy groan, she rolled off of the surprisingly comfortable pillows and stood.

The walk back to her room was a slow one.  Clara watched her bare feet as she walked, thumbs hooked into the elastic waistband of her pj bottoms.  She didn’t hear anything that would indicate where the Doctor had gone, which was just as well, really.  By the time she had gotten to her room, she’d decided that she’d carry on as usual and let the Doctor make the first move.  Finally feeling well rested, she used the time to herself to take that shower that she so desperately needed, and it felt amazing.  Standing in the hot water, she replayed what had happened between herself and the Doctor, trying to discover anything hinting that he hadn’t enjoyed it.  She couldn’t find any evidence of that, or an obvious reason to have stopped it so abruptly, so she pushed it aside in her mind for the present.  Clara stayed in the shower for a long time, inwardly thankful that there was no limit of hot water on the ship.

Eventually, she made her way to the control room, where she was surprised to find the Doctor standing with an open book in one hand and a pen balanced on the back of a finger.  “Hey,” she said cheerfully from the doorway, determined not to make this awkward but cradling her cup of tea close to herself a little nervously all the same.

The pen clattered to the floor as he snapped the book shut and turned toward her. “Hey!” he repeated back to her, looking rather like a startled deer. 

He watched her with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as she stepped onto the platform with him, standing on the opposite side of the console. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”  She took a deliberate sip of her tea, looking at him over the rim, giving him time to recover.

The Doctor relaxed visibly with the question.  “Quite a lot, actually.” He began, looking away from her and starting to get the TARDIS set for a trip.  “Errands, basically.” Clara looked at him expectantly “There’s a bit of equipment we need,” he added, glancing up at her for a moment, “If we want to keep landing safely.”

Clara’s eyebrows shot up and she looked around the room as if she’d find something out of place or flashing to signal what was wrong.  Actually, flashing lights were in abundance, but there was nothing which seemed out of the ordinary.  “You didn’t tell me there was something wrong?” she said half-accusingly and a little alarmed.

“I didn’t know,” he said simply, before coming halfway around the console and winding a small arm several times.  “But as it turns out, it’s a fairly vital piece of equipment and we can’t put it off.  So, we’re going to a planet a few star systems over and about three hundred years from now.”  His usual attitude was making a reappearance as he continued to talk about the planet.  Something about a long history of mechanical superiority hidden by an outward appearance of a beginning civilization.  She let much of what he said wash by her while holding on to the pieces she thought useful.  They were a peaceful but secretive people.  Hospitable, friendly, and apparently tall.  He had connections. “Hot day, cold night.  You’ll be wanting shades.” He flicked a finger toward his eyes to clarify.

He didn’t look up at her again, and after a minute or two, Clara nodded to herself and slowly turned to leave.  Business as usual, then.  While she might have expected _some_ sort of change in him, she wasn’t surprised or disappointed.  This was the Doctor, after all.  He may run headfirst into danger, but he’d hole up like a turtle in its shell where emotions were concerned.  She knew this.  So instead of feeling hurt by his lack of acknowledgement, she called over her shoulder, “How long until we’re there?”

“How long would you like?”

She stopped at the doorway, turning to look at him curiously. He met her eyes only briefly before turning back to the controls.  “An hour?” she suggested. 

“An hour, then.”

She smiled as she left the room.

***

The scent of her floral shampoo lingered after she left, and he closed his eyes a moment as he breathed it in.  It faded quickly, however, and he was unhappily brought back to the situation at hand.  The malfunctioning piece of equipment was a little more urgent than he had let on in front of Clara, and it made him legitimately nervous.  His giving her more time than strictly necessary was both his way of acknowledging her, and also a way to stall their landing.  Because he wasn’t at all sure that the TARDIS would make it in one piece. 

As he fiddled with various dials and switches, making minute adjustments in order to facilitate an easier landing, another part of his mind slid back into the library, where for a span of minutes he’d had Clara in his arms.  Not only that, he’d had Clara’s lips on his, and her soft hands against his skin.  He could still feel the ghost of her nails against his scalp and he drew in a shaky breath, forcing the memory away.  It wouldn’t do.  Giving in to this could only lead to disaster.  He couldn’t see how it could turn out any other way.  Logic had to win over emotion.  With every ounce of willpower he had, he forced his newly-released feelings for Clara back into the depths, and felt a dull, cold ache settle on his hearts as he did.  It would be better, he told himself, for both of them in the long run.

***

When Clara returned to the console room an hour later, she found the Doctor still standing where she had left him, but frowning.  He looked almost as though he might be sick.  “Doctor?” she began, taking a tentative step toward him.

“Clara, good, you’re back.  Time to land. Hopefully.” His face snapped into a more neutral expression as he walked around the console, checking his work.  “Hold on to something.  I can’t promise a smooth landing!”

She raised her eyebrows, slightly taken aback, but nodded and made her way to a staircase.  It only took her a few seconds to get situated.  Hoping it would be enough to keep her from flying across the room, she seated herself on the second stair from the bottom and tightly grasped the rails on either side.  “Ok, ready!” she called over.

-

The landing was a decidedly rough one.  Something in the console room was billowing smoke, and the Doctor muttered frustratedly about losing several corridors and a bathroom as he checked and rechecked the systems that remained online.  A high-pitched alarm sounded somewhere in the bowels of the ship, but he silenced it quickly with an irritated flick of a switch.

“Sorry, girl,” he said quietly to the TARDIS, “We’ll get you flying again soon.”  Gently patting the nearest wall, he turned to Clara. “All right?  Ready to go?”

Clara stood somewhat shakily, but nodded. The Doctor made his way toward the door and held it open for her.  She thought she sensed a sort of coldness from him.  The way he moved around her now was oddly stiff.  His words were more clipped than even an hour previously.  He hadn’t met her eyes since she’d returned except when he’d asked after her well-being.  Something was different, but she couldn’t place quite what it was, and she didn’t like it.  Clara found herself distracted from her musing, however, by a wave of intense heat as she approached the open door.  “What…?” she gasped as she stepped out of the TARDIS.  It felt like stepping into an oven.  Immediately, she wanted to just turn around and step straight back into the TARDIS; required bit of technology be damned.  She wouldn’t, of course.  Every venture out of those doors was the experience of a lifetime, and she wouldn’t willingly pass that up.

“Two suns.” The Doctor supplied from her left, casually gesturing toward the sky where, indeed, two large yellow suns hung over them, unhindered by cloud cover. 

Clara squinted through her sunglasses at the area around them.  She could see nothing of any civilization.  For as far as her eyes could see, there were only rocks and sand and small, dry-looking plants.  “Where are we going?” she asked as she pulled her hair up into a tail, already feeling sweat begin to drip down her back. 

The Doctor pointed to a spot of nothing in the distance. “That way.” He turned and started walking, hands in pockets, his red-lined jacket folded over one arm, head slightly bowed. 

Something was definitely bothering him outside of the TARDIS malfunction, but now was not the time to pry, no matter how much it bothered her.  Now was the time to follow where he led and hope the walk wasn’t long enough to melt her.  What was the temperature required to melt human flesh? She thought this place might come close.

As though aware of her thoughts, the Doctor glanced back and offered, “Maybe twenty minutes.  Most of their civilization is underground.  There should be an entrance over in that direction.”

“Should be?” she repeated, dreading spending any more time in the oppressive heat than was absolutely necessary.

“There is.  Almost definitely.” He added with a small twitch of a grin. 

“Comforting,” she mumbled, pulling at the flowy, sleeveless shirt she was wearing, and wishing she didn’t need to have a jumper tied around her waist for later.  But the momentary crack in his new shell was enough to settle her misgivings for the moment.

-

It took nearly half an hour, all told, before the Doctor reached down for the last of many attempts and pulled up a thin chain, which he followed to a metal door under the sand.  The walk had been fairly quiet.  Neither of them spoke much, but Clara hadn’t minded because the heat seemed to suck the words out of her mouth before she could get any voice behind them. 

“Ah, here we are!” said the Doctor to himself as his fingers brushed away the dust from a long, flat handle. 

It took the both of them to pry the door open, but once they had, they were hit with a burst of cool air and Clara sighed in relief.  She was completely drenched in sweat.  She may as well have taken another shower, because there wasn’t a dry spot left to her.  As they began their descent down a long, narrow staircase, her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she started noticing shallow carvings along the walls on either side of them. The Doctor was muttering under his breath about proper greetings and ‘back in the day’, but Clara largely ignored it.  She found herself far more interested in the scene ahead of them.  With every step, her wonder grew.  In the distance was a city.  An underground city which glowed with golden light, dotted here and there with splashes of bright reds and oranges.  “What is it?” she asked quietly as they neared the bottom of the staircase.

“It’s their capital city.  It stretches far beyond what you can see, and then down quite a way as well.”  He unexpectedly took the last few steps in a sort of leap. And she followed closely behind. 

She could smell what she thought might be food in the cool, dry air, and she looked around to try and locate it, but was brought up short by the Doctor grabbing her tightly by the upper arm and pulling her to a stop.  “Oh!” she exclaimed, realizing the reason.  She had very nearly walked straight into one of the inhabitants of the city.

“Welcome,” said the extremely tall alien, arms spread wide in a familiar gesture.  She wondered if this kind of body language was universal among humanoid species, but didn’t linger on the thought.  There was too much else to take in. 

The Doctor looked momentarily confused, but then moved easily into a grand, sweeping bow beside her, and Clara awkwardly followed suit with a less-than-graceful belated curtsey.  “Clara, allow me to introduce you to the Queen of this continent.”  He looked the alien over for a moment, seeming to make some quick judgements. “I knew her father.”

Clara felt suddenly self-conscious about her subpar curtsey, but chose to move past it.  “Honored to meet you.” She beamed up at her with her most winning smile.  And she really did need to look _up_ to meet her eyes. If the Doctor was tall, this alien Queen was giant.  She was very thin, and stood about a third of a body taller than the Doctor himself, though a good portion of that height was made up of slender neck.  Her skin was slate grey, and those around her were various shades of the same.  Large, pale yellow eyes peered back down at her from a gentle-looking face.

She nodded slowly in response before turning to the Doctor.  “We received your message, Doctor, and we do have the item you require in our possession.”  The Doctor clapped his hands together and opened his mouth to speak, but the queen raised her six-fingered hand to silence him.  “However, it was my father who made the original agreements.  Times have…changed.  New arrangements must be made.”

Clara glanced at the Doctor, whose expression had become markedly more serious and calculating, though not unfriendly.  “You understand that without that piece, I will be unable to leave your planet?”

“We understand this.  You and your associate are welcome to stay with us indefinitely.  Accommodations will be made.  You will not be uncomfortable.”  Her gentle expression never changed.

Indefinitely…there was a possibility of never leaving this place?  This place with the unbearable heat and the underground cities?  There was no way.  “Doctor, we-“

“Clara.” It was only her name, but the tone behind it silenced her immediately.  He hadn’t even looked at her.  His eyes were locked on the queen’s.  “Very well.  Let’s get this started then, shall we?”

Everyone turned to leave the area, but a whispered conversation between the queen and one of those accompanying her stopped the group again.  The one who had done the whispering turned toward Clara and made an apologetic gesture before saying “We regret that you will not be allowed to attend negotiations.” She felt her eyes widen even as she tried to hide her surprise. “You are welcome to enjoy the celebration in the city.” He waved a hand toward the bright lights and colors she had seen from the staircase.

“Doctor?” she asked, hoping he would step in on her behalf.  Celebration or not, she wanted to be part of the talks, even if she just observed.

He still wouldn’t look at her, but his jaw had set in the way she knew meant he wasn’t happy about the situation.  “It may be for the best, Clara.”  She set a hand on her hip, disbelieving.  “I’ll find you when we’ve reached a _mutually_ beneficial decision.”  She could tell that the emphasis was meant for the queen, who seemed mildly amused. 

She was so stunned that she said nothing as they all begun walking away again, leaving her behind without even a guide.  Clara watched them until they rounded a corner and she could no longer see them.  The Doctor never even looked back.

“Wonderful.”  With an angry tug to straighten her shirt, she turned toward the brightest lights and started walking.

***

The Doctor emerged from negotiations worn, but successful.  The new queen had been far less giving than her father had been, but they would be leaving on good terms, and with what they needed.  Overall, it had been a success.  He had, of course, been surprised to find that they had landed later than intended; a full century later, in fact.  While they were an exceptionally long-lived species, the individual he had wanted to talk to had died nearly twenty years before their arrival, and it had taken half of a 36 hour day just to get past pleasantries, formal introductions and to put forth his request.  Another full day was required on top of that to actually perform negotiations and reach an agreement that suited everyone.  There had been a brief interlude during which he took two hours of sleep and then checked on Clara.  From a distance, of course. 

The first time he had come to this planet, the inhabitants had been celebrating the new year for nearly a century with days-long celebrations every few weeks.  It was something to do with negotiating a peace with another civilization which had been on the brink of wiping them out as a planet.  Apparently, the parties were still going strong, because as he stepped out into what amounted to the town square, he was met with hundreds of colored lights, a rhythmic kind of music, and the mingled smells of cooking foods and scented smokes. 

It hadn’t taken him long to locate Clara.  Being Human, she was something of an attraction.  She was talking animatedly to a group of enthusiastic onlookers, demonstrating something with exaggerated hand movements.  She had taken her hair down at some point, and her cheeks were highly colored, but she looked largely the same as she had when they'd arrived.  There was, of course, the addition of a small ceramic bowl in her hand which the Doctor recognized as the preferred vessel for this planet’s version of strong alcohol.  As he had to get back to negotiations, he didn’t come forward, but he was satisfied that Clara was safe and well enough.

-

When everything was finally concluded and farewells had been made, the Doctor made his way back to the town square.  It took him several minutes to locate her this time, as there was no helpful crowd gathered.  He eventually found Clara fast asleep on a makeshift sleeping pad while the party continued around her.  He picked his way through the crowd and knelt in front of her. 

“Clara,” he said, leaning forward, closer to her ear.  She didn’t seem inclined to wake, so he touched her shoulder and tried again. 

“Wha…”

She frowned and opened one eye. “Clara, it’s time to go.”

She pushed herself into a semi-sitting position, still frowning, and looked blearily around.  “Where’re we going?”

He smiled slightly. “Back to the TARDIS.  I’ve got the piece we need.” He stood and held his hand out to her. “Come now, time to get up.  You’ll be much more comfortable in your own bed.”

“Right.” She didn’t accept his offered hand, but used both of her own to balance first on her hands and knees and then push herself one leg at a time to standing.  Or barely standing.  On her first step, she swayed alarmingly and threw her arms out to the sides to regain her balance. 

The Doctor held his arms out as well to catch her if she fell.  “Clara?” He realized then that she was fairly intoxicated.  He knew she had tried the celebratory alcohol, but didn’t expect she’d drink enough of it to become impaired.  He had never seen her like this, and didn’t know what to expect.  He was in unknown territory again, and he didn’t much enjoy it.

“’m fine,” she muttered, swatting at his outstretched arms.  “Let’s go.”

They made their way slowly to a wider, more brightly lit stairway than the one they had used before.  He had been informed with some amusement that they had entered through a long-unused doorway, but which had still alerted security to their presence. The newer entry would actually bring them to the surface a little closer to where he’d parked the TARDIS.

***

Clara’s feet felt heavy, and she was painfully drowsy.  The world seemed to spin and tilt when she turned her head, so she tried not to.  She knew, realistically, that letting the Doctor help her was the smart thing to do, but through the fog in her mind, she still felt resentment toward him for leaving her behind.  Inwardly, she chastised herself for drinking as much as she had.  She hadn’t really meant to.  The Doctor was by her side being a little overly watchful, but she tried to ignore him. 

Despite her rejection of his help only minutes before, she found that she did need to hang on to him as they reached the stairs and started upward.  It was a long climb, and the longer it took, the more she felt like maybe she needed to sit down.  By the time they got to the end, she was concentrating very hard on every step and focusing on her breathing.  The fog in her mind seemed to becoming thicker and thicker.  She took the last few stairs at a stumbling dash, pushing away from the Doctor and falling unceremoniously to her knees the moment she hit fresh air. 

***

“Clara!” The Doctor rushed forward and crouched beside Clara, one hand gingerly on her shoulder and the other holding her hair back.  He waited until she had finished retching before gently pulling her upright onto her knees again. 

Clara sniffed wetly and wiped her mouth across the back of her hand, nose scrunched up and eyes squeezed shut.  “Ok,” she said grudgingly, “Maybe ‘m not fine.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed, pushing her hair back behind her ears.  While she took in her surroundings, he used the moment to really look at her, something he had been avoiding since before they had landed.  She was pale and trembling, her makeup smeared under and around her eyes from two days of celebration.  “Clara, are y-“

“Great.” She groaned, interrupting him and covering her eyes with one hand while gesturing vaguely behind him with the other.

“What?” he said, peering around.  “Ah.”  A small group of party-goers had apparently decided to get some fresh air and were now craning their long necks to get a look at Clara, large eyes reflecting the bright moonlight with an orange glow.  The Doctor stood up, turned to face them, and clapped his hands together, shooting them a toothy grin. “Nothing to see here, folks! My friend’s just had a few too many of your excellent refreshments.”  They looked at each other and then back to the Doctor, “She’ll be just fine in no time at all.  No need to worry!”  As they slowly turned away from them again, the Doctor held out his hand to Clara, who was swaying slightly where she knelt.  “Can you walk?” he asked in a softer voice.

Clara nodded slowly and took his hand without pause this time.  As she stood, he wrapped an arm around behind her and supported her weight as they begin to make their way back to the TARDIS.  The sky was full of stars, many of which he knew, and in contrast to when they arrived, the air was dry and cold.  They walked in silence for a fair stretch of time, Clara stumbling a little every now and then and beginning to shiver.  It was only then that he noticed she no longer had her jumper.  Or, as far as he could tell, her sunglasses.  He was just about to remove his jacket to give to her when she suddenly broke away from him and doubled over, vomiting again into the sand as she sank down to support herself on an arm.  She groaned and spat before wiping her mouth again.  Concerned, the Doctor helped her to her feet again, removed his jacket and helped her into it.  “Not cold,” she mumbled thickly even as she pulled the jacket closed around her. 

“It’s not far, now.” He said gently, “I have something in there that will help.”

“Good,” she said quietly.  “Not fun.”  She took a few shaky steps before adding, “Was fun.  Not fun now,” before squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head as if to clear it.  The motion threw her off balance and she stumbled sideways.

“Whoa, whoa!” he caught her as she fell and scooped her up into his arms.  “Clara?” 

“Hmm?”

The Doctor frowned. “How much did you have to drink, exactly?”  Clara just groaned and turned her head in towards him.  “Ok, Clara, ok.” He said soothingly.

The rest of the walk took less than ten minutes, and in that time, Clara fell asleep.  Or simply unconscious.  He wasn’t sure which.  She whined quietly when he carried her into the bright light of the TARDIS, but otherwise was unbothered.  He continued on until he came to what Clara had recently begun referring to as the media room.  What it really consisted of was a modest television, two cushioned chairs and a large couch along with a very outdated desktop computer in the back corner and a bookcase filled with an eclectic assortment of movies from both past and future.  He gently set her on the couch, head on a paisley-printed pillow, and covered her with one of the assortment of blankets which were piled on the desk chair.  Once he had made certain she was as comfortable as he could make her, he swiftly left the room for the medical bay.  It was an easy enough remedy.  Actually faster if swallowed, but able to be administered intravenously if required.  His concern wasn’t so much that she was drunk, but rather that she had imbibed enough to poison herself.  He frequently forgot how fragile human bodies were.   

Clara didn’t even flinch as the needle pierced her skin, which worried him further.  It would take some time to work, but he didn’t want to leave her before he knew for certain that she would be all right.  His own stomach in knots, he sat across the room from her in an armchair and began counting down the minutes until he knew it would begin to work.


	6. (untitled)

It was a dull throbbing pain in her head which pulled Clara reluctantly from sleep, but the distinct smell of dust and sick finished the job.  She could tell she wasn’t in bed even before she opened her eyes, and as they adjusted to the dim flickering light around her, she realized where she must be.  Her memory of recent events was foggy at best.  How had she gotten to the media room? How had she even gotten to the TARDIS? She rolled slowly from her back onto her side, taking care not to roll off the edge of the sofa, and saw the Doctor staring blankly at the muted television over steepled fingers.

“Doctor?” she mumbled in confusion, finding her voice thick and her mouth sour. 

His head turned sharply toward her in surprise and he stood immediately. “Clara!  You’re awake.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, pushing herself up and dropping her legs over the side heavily.  His reaction seemed somewhat more dramatic than she thought her waking up deserved, but she was in no mind to question anything just now.  She felt a little wobbly, a little light-headed, and the taste in her mouth was revolting, but it could certainly have been worse.  She rubbed her hands over her face and sighed.  “How long?”

“About three hours.”  He took a few steps forward, but didn’t join her on the sofa.  Instead, he stood a few feet away with his hands clasped anxiously in front of him as he watched her.  “How do you feel?”

“My head is throbbing,” she answered before giving a shrug, “but I should be worse off if it’s only been three hours.”  She grimaced and closed her mouth again, not wanting to pollute the room with her breath.

“Ah, yes.  I, uh…I gave you something for that.”  He gestured toward her arm, “It countered most of the effects of the alcohol.” He stood silently for a moment before adding as an afterthought, “Though you may feel…hungover for a while yet.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, surprised, and then looked down at her arm, finding it covered in the sleeve of his jacket.  She had entirely forgotten he’d given it to her.  As she pushed the sleeve up, she noticed a small spot of blood dried on her inner arm and ran a finger over it curiously.  “Well, that’s useful.”  She let the sleeve fall again and looked up at him. “Thanks for that.”

He seemed to visibly relax as he nodded in response, “Of course.” Had he been expecting to be scolded?  Clara remembered their walk to the TARDIS now…or at least some of it.  She had no desire to continue that experience.  She remembered the long walk up the stairs, a burst of fresh air and sand grinding into her palms as she fell to the ground to vomit.  She vaguely recalled the Doctor catching her as she lost her balance before her memory completely failed her.  She also remembered how the Doctor had left her minutes after they’d arrived and never once came back to tell her what was going on.

She could feel herself tensing up, fighting the annoyance which was creeping up on her with the memory.  She didn’t want to feel that.  Didn’t really want to address it at all.  It was over.  He was here now.  He had taken care of her when she had been foolishly irresponsible.  This wasn’t the Doctor who had felt so strangely distant when they had landed.  She didn’t understand what was going on in his mind, but she wished he would give her some idea so that she knew how to move forward.  More immediately, however, she felt like her skin was crawling, and the taste in her mouth was beginning to make her ill all over again.  Sorting things out between them could wait for a little while.

“Clara?” He took a step toward her as she made to stand up.

 “I’m fine,” she assured him as she slipped his jacket from her shoulders and made sure she had her footing.  “It’s just…I need to wash.” She smiled weakly and gestured toward herself, indicating the mess that she was. She could use some time to think things over, and a hot shower was incredibly inviting itself.  It occurred to her also that she should eat something as her stomach was beginning to object to its emptiness, overpowering the nausea.  “And I don’t think I ate anything that last day,” she added with a shrug, pressing her fingers against her temples to keep away the headache.

“Right.  Of course.” He said quickly, stepping to the side, though he hadn’t been in the way.  “I can bring something to your room if you’re feeling tired.”

“No,” she shook her head slowly.  “Actually, I think I may come back here.  I wouldn’t mind watching some mindless telly for a bit.”  She didn’t particularly want to broach any meaningful topics just at the moment, but she loathed the idea of being isolated in her room.

The Doctor nodded and retrieved the jacket from the couch as Clara slowly made her way out of the room and down the various corridors until she reached her room.  The first thing on her mental list was to brush her teeth.  Possibly multiple times.  It had been years since she’d been so irresponsible as to drink herself to sickness.  She certainly hadn’t meant to.  The drink the aliens had given her was clearly alcoholic, but had a very sweet aftertaste, and she didn’t feel any effect at all until maybe an hour after she’d had it.  So she had overindulged, underestimating the effect of the drink.  When it finally hit her, it hit her all at once.  Those she had been talking with eventually made her a small place to lay down when her speech had slurred into gibberish and she could barely walk.  She didn’t think it was too long after that when the Doctor had woken her.

“Oh…!” Her own reflection startled her.  If she hadn’t known it was her, she wouldn’t have recognized herself.  Her hair was a tangled, dusty mess.  Her top had large off-color areas where sweat had attracted dirt and then dried.  Likely multiple times.  There was a hole in the knee of her leggings.  ‘Racoon eyes’ wasn’t a sufficient description of what her makeup had done after two days.  Wasting no time, she stripped off the soiled clothing and left it in a heap in the corner of the room, grabbed her toothbrush and went to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short and not much happens. Next will be more interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> \- happendash on tumblr -


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